


The World Does Fall Apart

by Waldo



Series: Eccedentesiast Series [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: American Revolution, Angst, Canon Era, Caretaking, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, M/M, Storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-01-04
Packaged: 2018-09-14 19:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9198932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waldo/pseuds/Waldo
Summary: Somehow that was the last thing he ever expected anyone to say when, for the first time in his life, he actually put his fear into words, admitted to the fear instead of letting everyone around deduce it for themselves, was, "What can I do to help?"   For the first time in his life someone had noticed his unease enough to say something other than, “Hamilton, calm the fuck down, it’s just rain and wind.”





	

_I have stepped outside my comfort zone enough to know that, yes, the world does fall apart, but not in the way that you fear.  
-Tan Le_

John Laurens flopped onto his back, cracking one eye open, trying to ascertain what had woken him. The room had been pitch black when he’d fallen asleep – the raging thunderstorm outside blocked out the moon and the stars and eventually necessitated pulling the shutters closed. He’d been looking forward to sleeping straight through the night, the sounds of the wind and rain drowning out anyone in the house they were currently headquarted in and keeping the soldiers secure and quiet in their tents and small wooden huts.

He listened carefully, hearing only the rain against the windows and the thunder alternately cracking nearby and rolling in the distance. After a few seconds he realized that it wasn’t sound that had woken him, it was light. Hamilton must have lit a candle when he came in, which was unusual. It wasn’t uncommon for Alexander to come in after John had turned in, but normally he just fumbled around in the dark, or if he was lucky, used the moonlight to get him through the simple tasks of changing for bed and crawling under his blanket.

John had no idea what time it was, but he felt like he had to have been asleep for a few hours already, so it was probably moving on towards midnight, maybe later. When he’d come up from the shared dinner the aides ate each night in the kitchen, Alexander had still been sitting at the small desk he’d commandeered and shoved into a corner where he could work without being disturbed when the general chaos of the larger table in the center of the room threatened his focus.

John had been in camp less than two weeks when Washington had pulled him aside. He noted that Alexander had taken to John more quickly and more completely than he had to anyone else. And His Excellency wasn’t above attempting to use that fast friendship if it meant keeping Alexander’s more manic tendencies in check. He pointed out that Hamilton had a habit of being the first one working in the morning and would remain at work until long after others had retired to their wine or whiskey and an hour or two of friendly conversation before retiring for the evening. There were often whispers that it wasn’t that he didn’t sleep long, it was that he never slept at all. John had already noticed that it did take a great deal of coaxing to get Alexander to join them at the fire in the evening or even to get him to break for meals more than once a day.

Washington pointed out that Laurens was, to date, the most successful in getting him to do either without lengthy, and occasionally loud, arguments. Especially when Alexander had gotten by without anyone forcing him to get more than a couple hours of sleep recently and his temper had become quite… intemperate.

John had agreed to help keep an eye on his friend and Washington made some discreet changes to quarters putting Laurens in with Hamilton in the small room at the end of the hall on the second floor and hoping that having a good friend to spend time with would help Alexander decide to be just a little less relentless with his writing and a little less reckless with his own well being.

John made a face when he realized he’d lost track of Alexander that day. It had been a long day for everyone. John had gone out to conduct battle drills with Lafayette and there’d been an incident with a spooked horse that damn near fell on John when it stumbled over a tree root. He had been able to roll out of the way in time, but not without hitting a rock on the way down and giving himself a bruise over about a third of his back. It wasn’t a serious injury and he’d waved off anyone who even mentioned getting the physician, but the resulting soreness had soured his mood considerably. And, as if nature itself were trying to pour salt in his wound, the thunderstorm they’d thought would hold off until the next morning had started up when they’d only just called it a day and started back to camp. Upon returning to their accommodations, Alexander had been delighted to point at him with his quill and tell him he looked like a half-drowned puppy as he’d dragged himself through the common spaces to the stairs that would take him up to the room he now shared with the little imp, and his dry clothes.

His hair was still damp when he’d finally come back down for dinner and his wool uniform coat wasn’t going to be dry for days. Hamilton had been talking about anything and everything at the top of his voice all through dinner and it had started to grate on John’s nerves after a while, so when they’d eventually left the kitchen John simply nodded when Alexander lit a candle and stated his intention to finish the supplies request he’d been working on.

He sighed when he realized that in all likelihood it had been His Excellency who had chased Alexander to bed that night. He wondered if he’d be on the receiving end of a lecture about neglecting one’s duties come the morning. 

John shrugged at himself as he rolled again, trying to put his back to Alexander’s candle. He didn’t mind keeping an eye on Alexander. Alexander did at least as much for him, keeping him from getting into unnecessary scuffles over stupid comments whispered under someone’s breath or the suggestion that only his father’s position had made it possible for him to enter the war in the place that he had.

He wondered what the General would say if he found out that Alexander had been chased out of the parlor to his bedroom, only to continue working behind closed doors.

He listened for the sounds of Alexander’s quill hitting the side of the inkpot and the scratching of it across the paper. The storm was loud, but he didn’t think it would drown out the sounds of Hamilton writing entirely, but he couldn’t hear anything but wind and rain and thunder.

Maybe he had finished?

John opened one eye again; the faint glow of the candle was illuminating the wall nearest his bed. He rolled onto his back again and opened both eyes. Alexander was, in fact, sitting at the small table near the window. The taper was no more than an inch tall at that point, but as far as John could see, the table was bare save it and Alexander’s elbows.

“What the hell are you doing, Alexander?” John finally muttered. His back was protesting all the tossing and turning at that point.

“Nothing. Sorry,” Alexander mumbled, sounding startled at the sound of John’s voice.

John deliberately softened his tone. “Then go to sleep, yeah?” John thought about pulling the blanket up over his head to block out the light, but before he could decide if rolling off where he’d gotten it tangled under him was worth it, he caught a glimpse of Alexander’s face in the flickering light. He sat up, “You alright?”

“Yes, of course, I –“ a flash of lightning crept in around the edges of the shutters and John saw Alexander freeze up until the thunder crashed and rolled across the camp. “In just a moment. I’ll go to bed in a moment. I’m sorry for waking you.”

Something wasn’t right. Alexander had changed out of his uniform into his sleep clothes, but his bed didn’t look at all disturbed, like he hadn’t even tried to lie down. John had only been in camp a month, but in that short time he’d gotten to know Alexander well enough to know when something was off. If he’d finally decided to go to bed and changed his clothes, he should have been sound asleep a few short seconds later.

After a moment Alexander reached forward to cup his hand around the flame of his candle to prevent melted wax from splattering when he blew it out, but before he could complete the action, an especially bright flash of lightning filled the room with light, followed almost immediately by an ear-splitting crash of thunder.

Alexander’s hand curled into a fist and dropped to the table top, the flame still burning, his eyes closed. With his hand so close to the candle John could see that it was trembling.

He pulled himself off the bed and silently crossed to the table, moving the other chair from across from Hamilton to next to him. He gently covered the shaking hand with his own. He was a little surprised that instead of pulling away, Alexander turned his own hand over and held John’s tightly in his own.

“Want to tell me what’s wrong?” John asked quietly.

Alexander smiled wryly, knowing that it had to be quite obvious even to someone of his friend’s not inconsiderable intellect. “I dislike storms. I’m sorry for waking you; I’ll be fine in just a minute.”

John pulled his chair even closer, not letting go of Alexander’s hand. Once they were shoulder to shoulder he said, “First, stop apologizing. Second, what can I do?”

Alexander looked up shocked. Somehow that was the last thing he ever expected anyone to say when, for the first time in his life, he actually put his fear into words, admitted to the fear instead of letting everyone around deduce it for themselves. For the first time in his life someone had noticed his unease enough to say something other than, “Hamilton, calm the fuck down, it’s just rain and wind.”

“There’s nothing – I mean, it’s kind of you to – but – I woke you up –“ He couldn’t seem to get to the end of a thought. The uptick in lightning flashes wasn’t helping a damn thing.

John squeezed his hand again. He’d been through enough storms at home off the Atlantic to know this one wasn’t going to be letting up any time soon. Alexander looked miserable. He kept staring at the weak light of the unsheltered candle, which, if John had to guess, only had about a quarter of an hour left. “Want to tell me why?”

From where their shoulders were pressed together, he could feel Alexander’s breathing quicken. He saw Hamilton’s eyes press closed for a long moment. John reached up and tucked a stray lock of hair that had escaped Alexander’s queue behind his ear. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.” He began rubbing his thumb over the back of Alexander’s hand.

They sat that way until the candle began to sputter. A particularly strong gust of wind actually brought a draft and a few raindrops through the space where the wooden window frame had shrunk away from the brick and stonework. The candle went out. Alexander’s head fell against his arms where they rested on the table.

“Alexander, come. Lay with me. Truth be told, I’m not enthusiastic about this weather either. And rainstorms in New York in November are damn cold and neither of us are made for this.”

He expected resistance but surprisingly felt none when he stood and tugged on the hand his was still wrapped around. The room was pitch black now, save for when the lightning flashed, so John was cautious as he led Alexander to the small bunk he’d recently left.

He got them both seated on the edge of the bed and wrapped an arm around Alexander’s shoulders, tipping Hamilton’s head against his own shoulder. He couldn’t ever remember seeing his friend both awake and quiet for this long. He was becoming a little concerned. “This reminds of me of the summer before I went away to school. A hurricane came up the coast and hit Charleston. It was like this for most of two days and a night. My sisters and I huddled in front of the fire in June because it was the only light.”

He felt Alexander stiffen at the word hurricane and John wondered if he hadn’t hit upon yet another way he and his friend were eerily similar.

“Did many die?” Alexander asked quietly.

“Only a few who, it seemed, hadn’t the common sense to get indoors when the winds got bad.” Running with an urge he’d had for a while, John untied Alexander’s queue and raked his fingers through Alexander’s hair, quietly delighted when Alexander snuggled into the petting.

“About five years ago – just weeks before I left for New York – a hurricane came through my town and destroyed everything. And damn near everyone. For four days it raged like this outside.” Alexander crossed his arms over his chest, hugging himself. “And so many of the buildings where I'm from are not built so well as this place. I kept waiting for the very roof over my head to come down around me.”

John hugged him in tighter, placed a soft kiss on top of his head. “I gather it didn’t?” They were sitting there having the conversation after all.

Alexander shook his head. “But when it was over… so many hundreds of bodies… and nothing was where it had once been…”

Thunder shook the house again and John could feel the blood drain from Alexander’s face where it pressed against the thin cloth of his shirt. Apparently talking about that storm during this storm was not sitting well. It occurred to John that either in his youth or his naiveté he’d never actually been concerned that his house would collapse around him in the hurricane in Charleston. And he’d been pretty well shielded from the after-effects by his father and other relatives. Alexander hadn’t spoken much of his past before coming to New York, but Laurens knew that his parents had both been gone before he’d been thirteen. He’d suffered his storm alone.

John leaned towards the foot of the bed, not letting go of Alexander. “Let’s try to rest,” he said as he grabbed the blanket and tried to shake it out with one hand. Eventually he decided the stubborn thing would not cooperate unless he used both hands. He let go of Alexander and manhandled the blanket until it was stretched across the foot of the bed, waiting for them to pull it up.

“Come on,” he said to Alexander as he situated himself on his side as close to the edge of the bed as he dared without risking falling backwards onto his arse, and possibly damaging his back even worse.

Alexander stayed still, like he had when the lightning had spooked him at the table. John waited to see if he would shake himself out of it. After several long moments, John reached out and took Alexander’s elbow, “Lie down, Alexander.”

Hamilton jumped at the contact, nearly falling off the bed himself. “I don’t know if this – I should –“

John was grateful for the darkness now, since it hid his disappointment from his dearest friend. He wasn’t sure how he’d gotten it so spectacularly wrong, but clearly he had.

“I’m afraid if I stayed, I’d make you very uncomfortable,” Alexander finally bit out before rising and moving slowly and carefully towards his own bed.

John listened to the shuffling footsteps for a second before it occurred to him that perhaps he hadn’t gotten it wrong at all, but Alexander had no reason to know that. “Please come back,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle Alexander. 

“John –“

“You won’t make me uncomfortable. I promise.” He hoped Alexander would understand. He could tell that Alexander had frozen in place and knew that the next lightning flash would show him a face writ with indecision.

“I don’t think you understand what I mean,” Alexander finally said quietly. The despondency in his voice tore at John.

John reached towards where he judged Alexander’s voice to be coming from. He found his hip, and searched for a second before finding cold fingers and wrapping his hand around them. He pulled Alexander back to him. 

“John – please – “

“If I’ve made _you_ uncomfortable, tell me now, please.” John stopped pulling on him, knowing that this was going to need some sort of resolution before Alexander would even consider sharing a bed with him.

“Never, since I’ve met you,” Alexander said quietly.

“Then lets save any deeper conversation for tomorrow when we’re both rested and perhaps we can actually see each other.” There was another moment of silence, which was spectacularly interrupted with another blinding flash of lightning and thunder so loud, John wondered if the tree nearest their window would be a smoldering heap of charcoal in the morning. Alexander’s hand squeezed his so tightly, John almost pulled away from the pain, but instead he just squeezed back, trying to reinforce the message that Alexander didn’t really want to be alone. And John _wanted_ to keep him close.

When his grip eased somewhat, John could hear Alexander take in a deep, shaky breath followed quickly by another. 

He tugged again, hoping to break through Alexander’s stubbornness with a will of his own. “Come here, please.”

Alexander shuffled back across the small space between their beds. He sat on the edge of the bed and waited while John rearranged himself, listening until he could no longer hear the rustle of sheets and night clothes and the quiet hiss followed by slightly less quiet cursing as John lay back on the pillow.

“Have you injured yourself?” Alexander asked as he felt across the sheet cautiously to determine how much room he had.

John huffed out something like a laugh. “Actually I did,” he said as he helped Alexander get settled with his back pressed up against John’s front, and then fished around until he was able to pull the blanket over them both. “That damn horse Lafayette prefers got spooked this morning when we out testing the new cannon.” John reached up and gently pulled Alexander’s hair back, combing through the long dark strands with his fingers, smiling when Alexander let out a deep sigh and snuggled into the caress. “The horse fell right next to me. I got out of his way, so at least he didn’t land on me, but I stumbled in the process and went down over a rock the size of my head. I have quite a bruise on my back, but both the beast and I managed to escape the incident without fatal injury.”

“And Lafayette?” Alexander had seen him come in a few minutes after John, also dripping wet, but he’d seemed unharmed.

“Fine. He’d dismounted well before the damn thing panicked.”

Alexander nodded under John’s hand. “I’m glad you weren’t hurt worse.”

Thunder rattled the shutters again and Alexander froze, breathing arrested again. “Easy. You’re okay,” John whispered into his ear. Alexander forced himself to breathe. He knew John had no power to actually stop the storm or prevent it from bringing down a building, but when he told him he was safe, Alexander believed him. 

For the next hour or more John talked to him about the day’s drill and Alexander talked about the supplies list he’d be sending Congress in the next mail run. The winter was predicted to be very bad and the local towns were refusing to take Continental currency, which meant Congress would need to send down a supplies train.

John gave him his short, pithy opinion on what his father was likely to do with that letter and suggested that they talk with the General in the morning about having a plan to survive the winter with no more than they currently had or could manufacture on their own.

At some point in their discussion of a plan to further John’s abolitionist plans, Alexander rolled over to face him and settled in with his cheek against John’s shoulder. John settled both arms around him and trailed his fingers up and down Alexander’s back as they talked. Alexander couldn’t ever remember feeling so warm and peaceful in a storm – even before the hurricane that had wrecked St. Croix, bad weather had always made him nervous. Eventually he even found that he stopped shuddering with each thunderclap. He had no idea when he drifted off, but for the rest of the night, each time the storm woke him, he felt John’s arms tighten just a little around him and he was able to fall back asleep within a moment.

 

\---

 

The wind and rain continued to pound the windows through the night and into the morning. John’s first clue that they’d slept in far later than intended was when he could hear several men in the short hallway calling their good mornings to each other. Since becoming Hamilton’s roommate, John usually found himself amongst the earliest risers, no matter how quietly Alexander _thought_ he went about his morning preparations. 

He lay still for a while debating whether or not he should try to get up and get downstairs before the General arrived, and try to let Alexander lie in; or if he should wake Alexander, despite the fact that he knew he’d gotten so little sleep.

Before he could decide someone across the hall slammed a door causing Hamilton to jerk awake. John tightened his arms around him and kissed his forehead. “Shh. Just someone closing a door. Thought I’m not completely convinced the storm has let up at all.” They both lay there listening to the sheets of rain being driven against the walls and windows.

“Is it late?” Alexander asked anxiously, “Did we sleep through breakfast?”

John stretched around to light the lamp on his bedside table and then to where his coat hung on a peg near the head of his bed, fishing around until he was able to pull his pocketwatch from it. He glanced at it. “Probably not, but we should probably get moving all the same.” He combed his fingers through Alexander’s hair one last time, pulling it back from his face and placing a soft kiss behind his ear. “Time to start the day,” he said briskly and rolled out of bed.

Alexander rolled into the warm spot John had just abandoned and stretched. When he finally climbed out from under the blanket, he padded across the small room to where John was searching through his trunk for a pair of dry, clean socks. He tugged on John’s elbow until John stood and faced him. “I don’t think I’ve slept during a storm in at least five years. Thank you.”

John hugged him. “I’m glad I could help.”

Feeling suddenly self-conscious and awkward Alexander just nodded and stepped away, turning to his own trunk, busying himself finding everything he needed. He kept his eyes on the wall as he dressed, listening to John get ready behind him. He wasn’t sure what the night had meant and he was, for once in his life, too afraid of the chance of getting an answer he didn’t want to hear, to ask. He mentally berated himself for wanting it mean more than it likely had. John was friendly with everyone, he knew. He’d already found himself having to stamp firmly down on a rising sense of jealousy when someone else managed to commandeer John’s time and attention. He knew what he was feeling, but always in the past he’d known well enough to choke down those feelings as fast and as far as he could.

Never before had he been given any indication that his affection might be returned. 

He had no idea what was supposed to happen next.

He hated the indecision that had settled low in his gut. He wanted to say something, do something. But he hadn’t the first clue where to start that wouldn’t end up with disastrous consequences if he’d misread the situation.

Once dressed, he fairly ripped his comb through his hair as he cursed himself silently. He’d always faced every conflict or even potential conflict head on. Losing time, waiting for someone else to broach the subject had always felt weak and passive to him and he typically couldn’t stomach the idea of being thought of as either of those things. He couldn’t decide what it meant that he’d rather live with John possibly thinking of him in those terms than having to hear him say that things said in the dark, in a moment of pity, were really best left there.

“Jesus, Alexander, you’re going to rip your hair out, what the hell?” John had come up behind him and grabbed his wrist gently.

“Running late,” he mumbled as he fumbled in his pocket, trying to figure out where his ribbon had gone.

“Sit,” John said, reaching over to grab one of the chairs they’d left side by side at the table and pulling it over and pushing Alexander into it, his back to John. John took the comb from him and efficiently, but gently, pulled all the tangles out before brushing it back and tying it off in a neat queue with one of his own ribbons. “There. You’re presentable.”

Alexander let his breath out in a long sigh. He had no idea why the simple act of John tying his hair back for him felt so ridiculously intimate. He mumbled “thank you” before reaching over to pull on his boots. When he looked up again, John was studying him oddly, like he didn’t know what to make of Alexander’s mood. _Fair enough_ , he thought to himself. He wasn’t sure what to make of his mood either.

The storm, still relentless, sent a crash of thunder to disrupt his musings. He tensed, eyes closed, as the sound bounced off trees and hills and rolled across the land. 

John was suddenly there again, squeezing gently where his neck and shoulder joined. “Come on, we should see if there’s still breakfast or if Greene and Lafayette have decided to help themselves to ours.”

Alexander nodded and stood, preceding John from the room. As they got to the bottom of the stairs they noticed that four others had already come in and started either their breakfast or their work. All of them looked at Alexander as he paused at the bottom step. Clearly they weren’t used to getting to the parlor before him.

As if on cue, Lafayette came through the kitchen door with a cup of tea in one hand. “Why do I feel as if I have missed something?” he asked, looking at each of them in turn.

“I think everyone’s just astounded that for once, Alexander wasn’t the first one to work this morning,” John said, taking away the chance anyone could have had to make some biting remark. He wasn’t entirely sure what Alexander might do if someone tried to bait him given his unpredictable mood and definite lack of sleep. He didn’t particularly want to find out.

“I’m getting some tea,” Alexander muttered to the room before skirting around Lafayette to disappear into the kitchen.

When he came back out, he didn’t even attempt to start the day at the large central table. He took his tea to the small desk in the corner and slid several drafts and notes out of the way with his elbow to make a space for the cup. He sorted through the several new assignments sitting on his stack and prioritized them before grabbing a fresh sheet of paper and a quill.

He was startled when John came over, his own tea and small plate of bread in hand, and moved all the papers to one side of the desk, heedless of any organization Alexander may have employed, and then sat right in the middle of it.

“You’re sitting on the desk,” Alexander pointed out, not at all sure what John’s objective was.

“Yes. Yes, I am.” John set his breakfast on the windowsill and handed Alexander his own teacup. “You need to drink this before you even try to get anything done. In your current sleep-deprived state anything you do right now will have to be done again before lunch, so let’s just save the paper and ink, hmm?” John reached over to grab his own chair from the table and turned it around so he could rest his feet on it. He picked up his bread and tore it half, handing half to Alexander with a very pointed look. Eating it was not optional.

Alexander rolled his eyes and took a bite of the bread while John looked on. 

Seemingly satisfied that Alexander was taking reasonable care of himself, John finished his and reached over for his teacup. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, watching the room, but his words were pitched low, just loud enough for Alexander to hear him over the still-driving rain. “Will you be alright to work before this storm lets up?”

Hamilton just nodded. “Typically the better I can occupy my mind, the better I can manage it. Sometimes I find that I can get through even more work on days like this than others because I am so loathe to stop and give anything else a chance to creep in to my thoughts.”

“That’s why the nights are so bad?” John asked quietly, still not looking at Alexander. “Nothing else to think about?”

Alexander just shrugged, the movement enough to cause John to turn and look at him. He seemed pleased enough to see that the bread was gone as was most of the tea. 

John scanned the room again; making sure everyone else was well involved in either their own conversations or their work before hopping off the desk and turning to straddle his chair. He leaned in towards Hamilton, as close as he could get away with in a public setting and whispered, “Then think about this when the storm kicks up: the worst of this weather should pass before the end of the day. But regardless of whether it does or not, you are welcome back with me tonight.” John stood up and turned his chair back to his place at the table. He picked up Alexander’s cup. “I’m getting more tea,” he announced. “You want some?”

Alexander just nodded and watched as John sauntered off for the kitchen. He now had more than enough to occupy his mind until the storm blew itself out.

**Author's Note:**

> There really was a hurricane in Charleston, SC on June 6, 1770. John started school in London in 1771, so in all likelihood, he went through a hurricane as well.


End file.
